


We're not Twenty Anymore

by DefinitelyBroken



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Break Up, Fights, Heavy Angst, Iker is a dickhead, M/M, Relationship Problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2138205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefinitelyBroken/pseuds/DefinitelyBroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I need to tell you something."<br/>"Something serious? You're not oneself lately."<br/>"Yes, serious. Sara is pregnant, I'm going to be a father, and we need to break up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're not Twenty Anymore

“Pass me another slice, please,” Sergio asked, pointing at the pizza plate. Iker and he were sitting on the couch in front of the TV, and Ramos couldn’t reach the table. Iker rose a little, took the plate in his hands; but it slipped from them, like a bar of soap, and fell on the floor. “Well, damn.” Sergio looked at the pizza triangles, lying among the splinters. “Iker, what’s wrong with you today?”

“Sorry. I’ll clean it up.” He stood up to get a broom but Sergio held his hand.

“Cas, what happened? What worries you?”

Iker smiled hesitatingly. “It’s ok. You want something to eat?”

“No. Let me help with the cleaning.”

Casillas glanced at the clock. “It’s late. Go to sleep, I’ll do it myself.”

Sergio left. Iker quickly cleaned the floor, did the dishes and sat back on the couch, taking his head in still trembling hands. He had promised himself he would tell Sergio everything that night but he didn’t have the heart to do it. He was scared to see Sergio’s reaction, to hear horrible words he’d definitely pronounce.  To be alone. Well, without _him,_ and it’s even worse than being alone.

Iker inhaled deeply several times, calming down, and went upstairs. Took a shower, entered the bedroom, got under the blanket. But he couldn’t fall asleep; the pillow was uncomfortable, the mattress seemed too hard, the blanket felt thorny. He was tumbling for a long time; and Sergio was sleeping serenely near him. Guilt clenched Iker’s throat again. The following morning he would confess. Before breakfast; or after. Or on the training? No, he couldn’t drag it out. It’d be better if Sergio would find everything out from him than from a newspaper article.

~o~o~o~

“I need to tell you something.” The words left Iker’s lips before he could think them over. His stomach went cold, as though breakfast he’d eaten turned into a block of ice. Sergio put _Diario Directo_ and a cup of coffee aside, looking at Iker attentively.

“Something serious? You’re not oneself lately.”

“Yes, serious.” He sat across Ramos. Heart was thumping in his chest as if after a long run; his hands started shaking again.

“Well,” Sergio said blandly, “spill it out.”

Iker pumped as much air as he could into lungs and blurted out, “Sara is pregnant, I’m going to be a father, and we need to break up.”

Sergio was still smiling for a couple of seconds, then the corners of his lips faltered. “Pregnant?”

“For two months already.”

Sergio exhaled noisily. Iker felt squeamish and regretted he’d eaten so much. “But how?” Ramos whispered. “You said you didn’t—didn’t want to have kids with _her_.”

“I didn’t. It was an accident.”

Sergio gazed at him, shock in chocolate eyes. “Break up?” he asked hoarsely.

“Break up.”

Ramos lowered his glance. “Well yes, I can’t produce a baby for you.” He was speaking with his knees, not with Iker.

“I don’t want to lie to Sara.”

“Didn’t you lie before?”

“It’s different. She carries my child, I can’t… I’m going to have a family, I mustn’t sleep with you anymore.” He wanted to say it otherwise, but words again burst out before he could stop them.

“Aha. So you were just sleeping with me,” Ramos said.

“Sergio, I—”

“I should’ve figured out long ago that I’m just a bed toy for you. Very convenient, isn't it? When you’re on vacation, there’s Sara; when you play abroad, there’s me. No lack of sex.”

“Sese, I did _not_ mean this.”

Sergio shivered and rubbed his forearms as if he suddenly was cold. Then he looked Iker in the eye, with all anger and insult. “Why were you telling all those _I love you, I care about you,_ if it was only a freaking affair?”

“I do love you,” Iker muttered. It seemed like a stupid excuse, nothing more.

“Shut up!” Sergio yelled suddenly. He rushed over, face red with wrath. “Stop this bullshit! I trusted you, and you—” he couldn’t pick the right words, only staring into Iker hatefully, “you had so much fun with her, didn’t you?”

“Sergio.” Iker stood up, too, and stretched out a hand to him, but Ramos punched it hard.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed, “I’m done!”

He shot out of the kitchen, and the next moment the front door banged.

~o~o~o~

Sergio was late for the training. When the coach asked where he could be, Iker answered he had no idea. _He probably decided to skip this one and went to some bar,_ he thought. But half an hour later Ramos did show up on _Valdebebas._ Upset and gloomy, he apologized to the coaching staff, mumbled something when the team greeted him and glanced at Iker frowningly. That glance wasn’t very promising. Casillas walked to him. “You’re ok?”

“Piss off,” Sergio said through his teeth.

“I’m sorry, Sese. I didn’t want it to end—this way.”

“Oh and what did you want? Fuck me while your Carbonero is high-bellied? Go look for another idiot.”

Sergio didn’t talk to him that day.

~o~o~o~

“Help me, please.” Iker was kneeling in front of the suitcase, trying to lock it; but there was so much stuff that the lid wasn’t closing stubbornly. “Sergio.”

“I don’t want to.”

Casillas saw his back only; Sergio set his elbows against the sill, letting fresh air wind his face through the wide-open window. He took a cigarette pack out of his pocket defiantly, pulled one out, lighted it and took a pull with delight. Iker stepped forward to take the cigarette away, but Ramos dodged.

“I think we agreed not to smoke home.”

“This is my house, and I do what I want. Stop ordering, you are not my wife.”

“Sese—”

“And stop calling me with this stupid nickname.”

Casillas sighed. “Don’t be a child. We sorted all out, and you’re mad again. I was hoping you understand me.”

Sergio stretched his hand aside daintily and let out a smoke ring. He knew Iker couldn’t stand tobacco smoke so the cigarette was as close to his face as possible. “Fuck off.”

Iker was shocked; Ramos had never spoken with him like that. “Why are you being rude to me?” the captain asked rigidly.

“Because you deserve this.”

“I’m still older than you. You might show some respect.”

“I have _no_ respect for you.”

They were silent for awhile. Having finished the cigarette, Ramos threw the stub out of the window and lighted another one.

“Think of your health.”

“Since when do you care about it?”

“I’ve always cared.”

“Enough!” Sergio roared. “Enough mocking!” He cast the unfinished cigarette in the window and walked out of the room.

 

Iker found him in the arbor. Sergio was lying on the porch swing, body stretched, head in pillows. Iker sat next to him. “I wasn’t mocking you.”

“God damn, you again!” Sergio exclaimed dully. “Leave me alone! Take you freaking suitcase and buzz off.”

“Sese, I don’t want us to be enemies.” It wasn’t comfortable on the very edge of the swing so Iker sat down on the wooden floor. “Punch me if you feel better after.”

Ramos raised his head. “So you would sue me? Ha!”

“I won’t sue you because I—”

“Shove your _love_ up your ass. I’m tired of lies.”

Iker sighed again. “And I’m tired of saying this, but I do love you.”

“This is why you made Carbonero a baby? It’s for me?”

“Listen to me!” Iker broke down. “I didn’t want to!”

“Shut up,” Sergio whispered. “I hate you.” He dropped his head on the pillows; Iker stroked his hair cautiously. “ _Don’t touch me!”_

Casillas sat nearby for a minute, rose and went to the house. Knowing Ramos’ explosive behaviour, it’s better to leave him be.

~o~o~o~

Near the end of June _La Furia Roja_ suffered a terrible repulse from Brazil. The players were too upset because of the loss so no one supported the idea to visit a night club; everyone stayed in the hotel. The talked till the dead of night in the lounge, drinking beer, playing at cards and telling where they’d go on vacation.

The Seychelles were waiting for Iker, and Sara too. He let his girlfriend decide to avoid a conflict because Sara had become very irritable. The vacation turned out to be a hard labour for Iker; he was imagining what kind of nightmare that summer would grow into.

He was sitting at the table with Fernando, Juan, Sergio and Roberto Soldado, but had no idea what they were talking about. Tipping back in the armchair, he was drinking black beer and glancing at Sergio from time to time. Ramos seemed morose. He was between Torres and Mata, silent, too. He was taking his phone from the table on and off, watching something on it with a blank expression and putting it aside.

“Serg, why are you all sad?” Roberto leaned over the table and smacked him on the shoulder. “Where are you going this summer?”

“First home, Sevilla,” Sergio answered, “then the Bahamas.”

“With whom?” Fernando asked.

“With a girl.”

Approving rumble filled the room. The men from the other tables turned round and looked at them curiously. “What’s that _ooooo_ for?” Reina smiled.

“Sergio got a girl,” Torres laughed, “but said nothing to us, bastard! They’re flying to the Bahamas.”

“You ratchet jaw.” Sergio gave him a thick ear. The others started humming and questioning him but Ramos waved off.

“What’s her name, at least?”

“Pilar. Pilar Rubio.” He looked at Iker for some reason.

Casillas stayed in the lounge no longer than five minutes. Having referred to fatigue and unpacked clothes, he took the lift to his storey, entered his suite and lay on the bed, lights turned off. Something died inside Iker after Sergio’s words. He expected him to try to find a replacement, of course; Ramos would want to prove he can get on without Iker. Explosive behaviour… Pilar Rubio was a quite famous woman, and it was impossible to fight Sergio’s natural charm; Casillas knew it like no one else.

He remembered the happy times sadly, when there weren’t any _Saras._ They had been spending all spare time together, there had been almost no barriers, and they hadn’t needed to devise fake excuses. Their last meetings were being painted with worry more and more. All those restless gazes at the clock, all those irritating calls from Sara; and   _I’m sorry, I can’t come by next week._

_Ok. You’ll call me, right?_

Casillas felt a tear running down his cheek. He wiped it away with his sleeve and covered himself with the blanket, still dressed. He would pack in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> My life is crap so I wrote angst. Logic wins. The next and the last chapter coming... someday.


End file.
